


ich brauch für sonntag eine neue braut

by orphan_account



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War I, M/M, Self-Indulgent, hermann and newt are soldiers fighting on opposite sides and stop for a menage a deux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2513564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He clears his throat before saying, “Geiszler is a German name.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re a quick one, Gottlieb, I’ll give you that much.”</p><p>“Verpiss dich,” Gottlieb replies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ich brauch für sonntag eine neue braut

“Was ist los, Amerikaner?”

The kraut is drunk, no doubt. Stupid hair mussed beyond belief, dress greys all but sagging from his shoulders, bags as purple as Newt’s knuckles under the man’s eyes, noticeable even under the shitty lighting at the dive-in bar in north-eastern France.

“Nothin’ much, Herr Deutschland,” Newt replies with a small smile. He nods towards the bar and peers down at his empty glass of whiskey. “Want to make it something?”

The kraut just gives him another thin lipped smile before tipping back a shot glass of something vile and rapping his knuckles against the mahogany counter. “Barman, un autre whisky pour mon ami, et un verre de rhum pour moi!”

The girl behind the counter frowns a little but nods and gets whatever it is the kraut ordered. She returns with another glass of whiskey and a fancy crystal glass of something sweet for the pair of them. The kraut lays down a tenner before turning back to Newt with another grin.

He holds out his hands, squints a little, and in a slightly stuffy English accent says, “I am Colonel Hermann Gottlieb, 53rd Platoon of _Deutsches Heer_.”

“Newton Geiszler, American airman,” Newt replies, slapping his hand against Gottlieb’s and giving a quick squeeze. He’s got a strong grip; sharp knuckled, but firm, nonetheless. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you-”

“And I you, Mister Geiszler, but under present circumstances nice is all but unheard of.”

“You have a real snooty accent for a kraut, Herr Gottlieb, and it’s Newt.”

Gottlieb just barks out a laugh in response before grabbing his cup of sweet alcohol from the counter and taking a long swig. He swipes his wrist over his lips after he sets it back down, half emptied. His grin is lazy, but sharp, when his eyes refocus on Newt, as though he’d forgotten he was there in the first place.

He clears his throat before saying, “Geiszler is a German name.”

“Yeah, you’re a quick one, Gottlieb, I’ll give you that much.”

“Verpiss dich,” Gottlieb replies with a tsk, turning back in his stool and taking a ginger sip from his cup. “Sprichst du Deutsch?”

“Ein bisschen, aber Ich weiß nicht alles.”

“Niemand hier spricht es.”

“Ja…?”

“Und Ich möchte du fragen, ob du eine Nacht im Bergwerk verbringen möchten.”

And… okay, Newt should have been expecting that.

It’s not like he’s never thought about it; sleeping with other fellas, that is. It’s just it’s so damn taboo he’s never really given it a serious consideration. All of the girls he’s been with, and that list is not too long, were just fine, but. But.

“I think I would,” Newt replies, knowing that he’s probably going to regret it later.

But it isn’t later, and frankly, he’s been at half-mast since he downed his third whiskey. So sue him, he’s down with getting a little down and dirty with the enemy. Even if this particular enemy is a handsome German with an uppity British accent.

Gottlieb says he’s got a flat in south central Lille, and Newt suggests that they head out as quickly as possible as to avoid any curious eyes. It wouldn’t matter either way; the rules of fair play do not apply in love and war, and all that bullshit. Regardless, Newt’s willing to take advantage if it means getting his rocks off, and apparently, so is this guy.

Turns out Gottlieb’s ‘flat’ is a charming little house close enough to Belgium to see the scars in the land that mark old trenches. Gottlieb takes his hand in his own as they make their way up the stairs, and Newt doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t know why; comfort, maybe.

“Nice place,” Newt comments as Gottlieb leads him into a musty foyer.

“Danke,” Gottlieb replies, tugging at his collar. He glances back at Newt before smiling and pulling him up the stairs and down a pretty hallway. The house is remarkably intact, considering its location. There aren’t even cracks in the black and white tiling of the floor, and the paintings hung on the walls haven’t been looted yet. “It belonged to a factory owner, years ago.”

Newt wants to ask if he took it from the owner personally or if he waited for it to be vacated to move in. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he makes note of the other rucksacks lined up down the hallway, numbering at least fifteen in total.

“Your company here?” he asks, stomach threatening to drop at the possibility that he walked into a trap.

“They’re all off drinking themselves into mindless stupors, surely,” Gottlieb replies with a bitter note.

Newt snorts and goes back to his exploration. The pieces on the walls are masterpieces, no less, and a part of him wonders at how much he’d get should Gottlieb choose to sell them. Probably a lot, especially given the area they still reside in. He’s tempted to touch everything, sure that the other men in Gottlieb’s company, if not Gottlieb himself, have.

He wonders, should any of the men return, if he’ll be shot on principle for acquiescing Gottlieb’s rather immodest invitation.

He forgets when Gottlieb lays a bony hand on his shoulder and turns him around so he’s eye level with his chin, and he forgets how to do much more than breathe when Gottlieb ducks down and plants a soft one on Newt like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Gottlieb’s got soft lips; warm, and skilled, like he’s been doing this a lot longer or a lot more frequently, than Newt initially assumed. His hands are soft too. He’s got his fingers pushing under the hem of Newt’s shirt, the other hand having slid from Newt’s shoulder up to cradle his neck. Newt kind of likes it there; makes him feel safe, despite the man who the hand belongs to.

They break away for air after god knows how long. Gottlieb’s cheeks are pink and his lips are swollen and spit slick. His eyes are scrunched up like he can’t stop smiling, even though his lips are shaking up like he’s trying hard not to smile.

“You’re fuckin’ cute, you know,” Newt says before he can catch himself. When he realizes his words, he smiles and tries to look like he’s not surprised. Gottlieb’s wry little smirk is enough to know that he’s been caught.

“The sentiment is returned, Mister Geiszler.”

“It’s fuckin’ Newt,” Newt mutters, looping his arms around Gottlieb’s neck and pulling him in for seconds. “Got it, Herms?”

Gottlieb tries to mumbles something, likely a protest, against Newt’s lips, but it dies as soon as Newt opens his mouth and sucks Gottlieb’s lower lip between his teeth. Gottlieb responds after barely a second’s hesitation; his hands slide down to Newt’s ass and squeeze _hard_ , and Newt doesn’t even care that he probably moans like a wanton _something_ into Gottlieb’s mouth because Gottlieb starts kissing him in earnest, running hot hands up and down Newt’s sides under his unbuttoned jacket before finally pushing it off, and pulling Newt down the hall until they arrive at a closed door and have to part.

Newt must look curious because Gottlieb just rolls his eyes and says, “Bedroom,” before unlocking the door and pulling Newt in by his lapels.

After that, they lose their close pretty damn quickly.

And… Newt finds the source of the reason for the cane.

“Trenches?” he asks, tracing a finger down the longest scar marring Gottlieb’s left hip. He almost recoils from Newt’s touch, but he holds still. Newt’s a little curious why, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he just leans up and braces himself on his elbows above Gottlieb’s face.

“Air strike,” Gottlieb replies after a moment.

“Oh,” Newt says.

They don’t speak much after that. Newt ends up kissing him again, mostly to pull that awkward, wounded look from his face. He traces his fingers down Gottlieb’s biceps, over the sinewy muscles of his chest, thumbs at his hips, teases at the crown of his cock with his index finger, swallows Gottlieb’s gasp with a smirk.

He pulls away long enough to catch the fluttery-eyed anticipation on Gottlieb’s face. “Like that, huh?” he asks, bending down to lick a stripe up Gottlieb’s neck if only to hear his half-choked off gasp. “That too?” He sucks a little bruise onto the juncture of his shoulder and kisses down his chest, pausing only to suck on a nipple, and then continues on downward, pressing a chaste kiss above his belly button, then below.

He stops right above the sparse light brown hairs at the base of his cock.

“Good?” he asks, running a hand over Gottlieb’s thigh.

Gottlieb nods, and quirks a small smile. “Es ist besser als gut, Newton.”

And, in perhaps the most literal fashion since this whole war began, Newt goes down.

Hermann tastes sort of bitter; maybe it’s just a dick thing, maybe it’s not, but it’s not terrible. It’s just not pleasant. Nonetheless, the soft gasp Hermann gives is pretty damn pleasant, and Newt’s finding it a bit hard to quit grinning because there’s a dick in his mouth, dammit, he should not be this damn jovial.

But when he nuzzles all the way down and has to close his eyes to keep from looking like he’s crying, Hermann’s little moan of Newt’s name is enough to propel him on.

He pulls back up at the same time as he grabs Hermann’s hand from the sheets and pushes it into his hair. When Hermann makes a fist almost immediately, he can’t help but squawk a bit and pull off of Hermann completely.

“Jesus Christ, Hermann!”

“Apologies,” Hermann replies, but there’s a smirk on his lips.

Newt rolls his eyes but bends back down. “Your fingers are really fucking bony, pal,” Newt mumbles before he’s sucking him down in earnest. Hell, he even hollows out his cheeks like the one girl he’s been with did with him. Apparently, Hermann likes it just as much as Newt did when it was happening to him.

He likes it so much he shoots off like a fucking jet down Newt’s throat before he can pull off and jerk it out of him nice and slow.

Gagging as little as possible, Newt swallows it down and pulls off with a grimace. Hermann’s all wide-eyed and innocent when Newt glares up at him. After a moment, Newt sighs and climbs back up the length of Hermann’s body to press an open mouthed, sloppy kiss to Hermann’s lips.

“Could’a given me a little warning, Herms,” Newt mutters as he peppers kisses to the corners of Hermann’s mouth.

“Don’t call me Herms, Geiszler.”

“Don’t call me Geiszler, _Hermann_ ,” Newt replies with a grin.

Hermann just rolls his eyes and slides his hand down between Newt’s shoulders, and further, and further, until he’s cupping Newt’s ass again. This time, Newt arches into it and shivers when one of Hermann’s bony fingers slides down the cleft of his ass, cool and light like a feather. He outright moans when Hermann heaves him further up the bed, other hand splaying out wide on Newt’s ass cheek like he owns it.

The thought is enough to get him to arch his back just a little more, and if Hermann’s finger happens to nudge over his pucker that’s just a happy accident.

Newt doesn’t know much about what happens when to guys fuck. He knows that one guys cock goes in the other guy’s ass, and from this standpoint, it looks like his ass is going to be on the receiving end of said fucking.

He does know, however, that his ass doesn’t get wet when prodded enough.

“Hey,” he mumbles against Hermann’s lips. When Hermann just keeps on kissing him, he pulls away and noses at his cheek. “Hermann.”

“Yes, love?”

Newt ignores the way that that sends shivers down his spine and asks, “Do you, uh, have anything? Like…” To be fair, Newt’s never had sex with a guy, and to be fairer, society isn’t exactly raring to teach him how. “Uh, slick?”

“Slick,” Hermann repeats deadpan.

Shit. “Lubricant?”

“For God’s sake, Newton.”

Newt waits until he gets a serious answer, despite the way Hermann’s holding back hysterical laughter. His lips are trembling, and his chest is fucking shaking with it. After a bit, Newt quirks a smile, and Hermann just loses it.

“All right, all right, yuk it up big guy,” Newt mumbles, smothering his giggles into the pillow beside Hermann’s head. Hermann’s hands are tracing little patterns into the skin on his back. Newt tries not to arch into it like a fucking cat, but he knows he does.

Hermann does calm down, but he’s still giggling up a storm and, between each gasp, he’s murmuring, “Slick,” like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

When he does catch his breath, he strokes his hand down Newt’s ribs and smiles up at him all doe-eyed and relaxed. “I have some oil, if that’s what you wanted, Newton.”

Newt just nods, and shifts uncomfortably until Hermann rolls his eyes and pulls him to lie beside him. Then, he pushes to his feet and, with a kiss, tells him he’ll be back shortly. He leaves the room with soft, uneven footsteps and returns not a minute later with a bottle of cooking oil and a smirk wide enough to split his face in two if he plays his cards wrong.

“Ready?” he asks, stepping up to the bed.

Newt nods, not really knowing if he is or not.

It’s odd, though, watching Hermann climb up between his legs and nudge them further apart before grunting and grabbing a pillow from behind Newt’s head and shoving it under his hips. Then he takes the bottle of cooking oil, lathers up his fingers real good, and brings them between Newt’s legs like it’s not a big deal.

Then, slowly, he sinks one in.

And it fucking _hurts_.

“Fuck,” Newt hisses, shutting his eyes. He does his best not to jump out of bed and call the whole thing off, but hey, when’s he going to get a chance to do this kind of thing back home? Probably never, if he’s being honest, so he just goes with it. Hermann seems to notice Newt’s discomfort and settles a hand on his knee, then, ever so tentatively, bends down and presses the chastest kiss Newt’s been given this evening to the ridge on the underside of his cock like it’s something precious.

He kisses it all over, too, like he has all the time in the world. He licks up and down the sides, and wraps his lips around the crown and sucks like he wants to suck Newt’s brains out through his dick.

To be fair, he’s kind of succeeding.

Slowly, he loosens up under Hermann’s touch. The burn subsides in phases, starting directly at his rim then fading along the length of Hermann’s finger. Then, it actually starts to feel kind of all right. Not good, necessarily, but not bad either. Alien, Newt would assume. It only feels pretty fucking great-fantastic-strange when Hermann presses it inside of him and then Newt’s loose enough for him to slip in another.

“Gut?” he asks, dark eyes on Newt’s face.

Newt nods and gasps out, “Yeah, it’s fucking great.”

Hermann just smiles and keeps fucking him with his two fingers for a few more minutes, until he presumes that Newt’s ready for his dick. He pulls his fingers out, and Newt clenches around air, and that hurts a lot more than he was expecting. He watches Hermann slick up his dick with the cooking oil, and he spreads his legs a little wider when Hermann slides a hand onto Newt’s knee as though to tell him he’s ready.

Before Hermann can ask if he is, Newt smiles and says, “Do it.”

He does it; he pushes in and it fucking burns, but it’s a good kind of burn.

Admittedly, Newt doesn’t last long. Of course, neither does Hermann, but Newt comes a lot more quickly than he was expecting. Hermann sets a pretty fucking brutal pace as soon as Newt adjusted to him, and then he’s tugging on Newt’s dick in time with his hips pushing into Newt’s ass and okay, Newt probably lasts five minutes, tops.

But damn if it isn’t a fantastic five minutes.

Hermann lasts all of thirty seconds longer than him and, with a pretty strong thrust, Hermann comes inside of him, warm and hot and a little uncomfortable, but nice if only for Hermann’s face. When he finishes, Hermann collapses half on top of Newt’s chest, breathless and smiling.

Newt turns on his side and smiles right back; he even leans forward and kisses him.

They fall asleep tangled up like that a couple minutes later, and in the morning, Hermann’s still snoozing away. Newt’s quiet as he collects his things and dresses at the doorway. There’s another soldier sleeping in the hall, a man of Hermann’s company, no doubt, but clueless enough to the world around him that he doesn’t present an immediate danger to Newt.

He presses a kiss to Hermann’s forehead before making his way out of the house and into the streets, the sound of gunfire not distant enough for Newt to fully relax, but far enough that he can still smile and enjoy the ache in his ass and the warmth in his chest for a few moments longer.

Hell, it’s all he’s got now. He’s not keen on letting it go.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm too lazy to translate the whole thing, but basically what Hermann says that results in the two of them having sex is, "I would like to ask if you'd like to come back to mine." And Newt says yeah, basically.
> 
> If you'd like more translations, just ask. Likewise, if anything's incorrect please tell me. I'm not a native speaker but I'm sort of okay at speaking/writing German. 
> 
> Yell at me on [tumblr](http://buckybaarnes.co.vu).


End file.
